


Beyond the Walls of Stormwind

by ausmac



Category: Warcraft (2016), World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 21:13:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7523335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set directly after the end of the film</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond the Walls of Stormwind

No.  The answer before was no.  The answer now is no.” 

“But you’re going !”  He’d argued all the way from the Castle, through the packed city streets and up to the guardpost at the main gate.  “And if you, as Lord Commander can go, I don’t see why…” 

Anduin came to a stop so abruptly that Khadgar ran into him.  He turned and lifted a finger.  “That’s right.  I’m the Lord Commander.  I can go where I like.  I can take who I like.  And I’m not taking you, so stop asking.”  He blew out an annoyed breath and glared into the brown eyes looking up at him.  “We need to travel fast and light.  It’s soldiers work.”  His voice softened as he placed a hand on Khadgar’s shoulder.  “Stay here.  You’re too valuable to risk out there.  Protect the city.” 

Only a week – _is it only a week?_ – had passed since King Llane’s death and the Kingdom was still in disarray.  He needed information on numbers and location of the Orc advance to draw up defence plans.  Scouts on gryphons were fairly useless in the short term; the forests around Stormwind could hide large numbers from view from above.  The only sure way was to send ground parties.  But that was risky work, for anyone – especially a young man with little field lore and no armour to protect him. 

In retrospect, he realised his lack of experience in dealing with mages had been the cause.  He expected those under his command to obey him without question.  Dealing with mages, it seemed, was a specialist skill.  And Khadgar was too used to getting his own way by any means he thought he could get away with.  Which Anduin discovered an hour later when one of his officers rode up from the rear to where the Commander led the point squad.  “Sir.  He’s following us.” 

The lieutenant didn’t have to clarify who ‘he’ was.  Very few of the city’s defenders didn’t know of Khadgar, and what he had done with their Commander.  They might be soldiers who respected strength and skill at arms, but they understood how powerful a mage could be, and this particular mage especially.   Anduin ground his teeth and swore softly.  “Take the lead.  I’ll deal with this.” 

He rode into the trees to the side of the road and waited, smoothing one hand down his horse’s neck to quiet him.  Sure enough, a few minutes after the last of the party had passed, he heard the sound of a horse’s hooves on the road.  Anduin spurred his horse forward and practically knocked Khadgar’s mare sideways. 

The young mage yelped and jerked back on the reins as his mount shied and half-reared.  

“Surprise! I’m an Orc, and you’re dead!”  He glared across the short distance between them.  “My brain may be weak from injury and drink, but I could have sworn I told you to stay. In. Stormwind!” 

Khadgar blushed, looking all of his seventeen years.  “I know you did.  But I thought you might change your mind after you thought about it for a bit.” 

Anduin slapped a gloved hand on his thigh.  “You’re enough to test the patience of a priest.  If I send you back with an escort it will waste half the afternoon.  And you’d probably be stubborn enough to keep trying.” 

“Well no.  I’m not **that** bad. “  He shrugged and sighed.  “But I really do want to come along.  And I promise not to be a burden.” 

“Famous last words.  Fine, come along then.  But I hope you get a bad case of saddle sore and live to regret it.” 

The pleased grin that spread over Khadgar’s face did little to soften Anduin’s temper.  Lately he seemed to be living on nerves and anger.  It had been a bad week, and he’d needed to get away from the cloud of misery that hung around the royal court.  His sister was deep in mourning for her husband, her children were miserably missing their father, the court and the various ambassadors drifted between mourning a king and arguing about how to combat the Orc army moving somewhere out beyond the walls of Stormwind.  He’d taken it for as long as he could.  _Perhaps killing a few Orcs will make me feel better….._

They rode through the afternoon, taking side trips north and south of the main road to check for Orc sign. The farms were quiet and deserted; herds and sheep and cattle moved untended across the fields.  As far as the river to the south and the hills to the north of Elwynn, only wildlife stirred among the trees.  All the human inhabitants had fled to the safety of the city.  And of the Orcs there was no sign. 

He gave his riding companion a sideways glance.  The young mage had found the countryside interesting enough for the first hour, but it wasn’t long before a book came out of his saddlebag.  He’d salvaged a number of tomes from the Kharazan library and set them onto shelves in his room in the inn,  turning it into a small, untidy mages quarters.  That reminded Anduin of something, and he spoke without taking his attention from the countryside. 

“Why are you still at the Inn?  You could have a number of rooms at the castle, you know.  Plenty of room for your books.” 

Khadgar placed a bookmark made of twisted cloth on the page and tucked the book away.  “I know I could, but I prefer to stay where I am.   I can come and go when I want without some guard asking me what I’m doing or where I’m going.  They act like I’m six years old and can’t find my way to the privy.” 

Anduin’s lips lifted in a half-smile.  He’d put orders in place to keep an eye on his friend, for his own protection.  There were still a few places in the city with a rough reputation where a seventeen year old in robes would look like an easy mark.  Despite his abilities, naivety clung to Khadgar like a cloak.  “Light forbid that we might think you couldn’t find your way around a city you hardly know.  But stay there if you want.  Might do you good to get your pocket picked.  Teach you to pay attention to your surroundings.”  Anduin stretched his back muscles, easing himself in the saddle.  “Just watch out for small tails and teeth in the beef stew.  I hear it isn’t always beef, if you get my meaning.” 

“Yech.  Thanks for that, you could have told me earlier.”  Khadgar squinted in thought.  “Talking of which, I wonder if I could talk to you about a loan.  They keep asking me to pay my room bill…..” 

They reached the guard post  beyond the deserted Eastvale logging camp at the edge of Elwynn Forest by nightfall.  It seemed a good place to rest, so Anduin had the camp set up in the central clearing and guards posted around the approaches.   No fires were lit, which would give away their position, but Khadgar supplied a magically heated pot of Silverleaf Tea.  They supped on a simple meal of tough beef strips and damper cakes laced with dried fruit. 

The only light came from the moon overhead, and a light wind rustled the trees and sighed through the grass.  Khadgar lay on his back on his wolf skin wrap staring up at the stars.  “I wonder what they are.” 

With his back against a fencepost, Anduin paused in the task of sharpening his already needle-sharp sword.  “What?” 

“Stars.  Are they all suns like ours, only very far away so they look small?  Or are some of them magical fires or something else?” 

Anduin snorted a laugh as he put the honing stone away.  “Why not just look at the sky for its beauty?” 

“I do that but when something is so obvious, well, the obvious isn’t always the truth.” 

Sliding the sword back into its sheath, Anduin took the boomstick from its holder and started cleaning the barrel.  “So tell me about yourself, about your life.” 

“What do you want to know?” 

“I know nothing of mages – beyond the obvious that is.  What was your life like, growing up in Dalaran?” 

Khadgar stretched out and rested his hands beneath his head.  “As I told you, I went to live there when I was six years old.  Mage children aren’t taught magic at that age, they’re much too young for it and you don’t have a lot of power then anyhow.  We spend the next six or so years on normal schooling; reading, writing, numbers, that sort of thing.  Also playing various sports games to keep fit, as well as learning to cook, to mend and tend our clothes and gear, to make potions and draughts of various kinds, to make and illustrate spell books.  History, geography, languages.  There was a lot of learning, it kept me busy.” 

“I imagine it did.  Were you good at it?” 

Khadgar grinned.  “Not all of it.  I’m a terrible cook and my potions are very average.  But I loved the books, loved learning new things.  And then when I hit puberty, it all changed of course.” 

“Bits of your anatomy woke up and you started growing that scraggly beard?” 

Laughing, Khadgar rolled over onto his stomach.  “Yes, and it’s not scraggly, it’s a work in progress.  But there was also the magic.  It was like…like a light turning on, only it’s inside you.  Before it was hardly there and then it exploded.  It ran through me, into my mind, so powerful it was almost too much.  It felt…”  His gaze went unfocused.  “…wonderful.  As if I’d seen the world before in only one colour, and suddenly I had them all.” 

“Sounds impressive.  How did you end up being the Guardian Novitiate?  Wasn’t there already one?” 

“There had been, a young woman.  But she came down with a wasting disease that none of the healers could fix and she died when I was fourteen.  So the Council had to find a replacement.” 

Anduin put the boomstick away and settled back, arms behind his head, interested despite himself.  “Couldn’t one of them just step into the job?” 

“None of them could, even if they’d wanted to.  Either they were too old, or they weren’t suited for it.  They needed to find a new Novitiate, so they began testing the students.  They eventually chose me.  I was inducted as the Guardian Novitiate when I was eleven.” 

Anduin tried to imagine what it must have been like for Khadgar; still a child, suddenly picked to be the most important mage in the world.  “Bet that came as a shock.  They must have thought you were good.” 

“You could say that.”  His voice became pensive.  “One of the Masters told me that I showed the potential to be even stronger than Medivh.“ 

In the night it was hard to read body language and expression, but Anduin sensed a hint of pride.  Warranted pride, he suspected.  “Did your head swell up and make you float above the ground because you were so special?” 

Khadgar chuckled.  “Yes, sort of.  Until my friends started playing tricks on me.  Pricking the bubble, they called it.”  His voice grew serious.  “But they were an intense couple of years.  Before I’d just studied.  Afer the selection, I was pushed even harder than before.  Some of the Masters weren’t too pleased with me being chosen, though Archmage Antonidas defended me.  A few thought I was reckless and too impulsive.” 

“That’s about right.”  Anduin grinned.  “You certainly proved it by running away.” 

“That was the hardest decision I ever had to make, to throw away eleven years of training, to give up everything I’d ever wanted in life.”  His voice was low and regretful.  “But I sensed something was wrong, very wrong.  I was having dreams, bad ones, but I knew they were more than dreams.  And that sense of wrong.  It was like…”  He waved a hand, “like when you bite into an apple that’s sweet and tart, but there’s that faint taste of corruption, of the apple turning bad.”  He sat up and hugged his knees.  “I tried to explain, tried to get them to believe me, but they wouldn’t listen.  Said they felt nothing, that I was imagining it.  When I insisted, they finally asked the Guardian.” 

Anduin snorted.  “And he said he felt nothing wrong.” 

“Exactly.  With that, I lost all hope of being believed.  But it didn’t stop, it started getting worse.  And I knew I had to go and find out what it was.” 

“Why do you think you had this sense of wrong, and no one else did?” 

“There is a probable reason – but I can’t explain it to you, I’m sorry.  It has to do with a Kirin Tor matter that I’m sworn not to discuss.  Let’s just say, I think I was … told … because of my unique position.  And maybe because the source of the warning believed I had the best chance of doing something about it.” 

“But why….” 

The night’s quiet was shattered by roaring as huge figures thundered out from the tree line.  Anduin was on his feet even as the guards sounded the alert, spinning towards the pair of Orcs heading towards him.  Khadgar struggled up, his legs momentarily caught in the fur wrap, and ran behind Anduin without being told.  One of the two Orcs headed for him and he flung it backwards with a burst of blue-white fire.  The second one leapt for Anduin, raising a spiked club as big as Khadgar’s arm. 

It was impossible to see how many of them there were, but the soldiers were responding well.  The night erupted in flashes and bangs as their boomsticks fired and Orcs fell, roaring.  Anduin dodged a club strike that would have shattered his skull, rolled to the side and sliced off the Orc’s weapon arm with one downward blow.  As it stumbled and screamed he thrust the sword through its side, killing it instantly. 

Khadgar was busy as well.  A pair of Orcs had tried to reach him over the nearby fence; he’d set the fence alight with a fire spell that caught both of them and their clothing alight.  Infuriated by the pain they came for him, weapons raised, stinking of burnt flesh.  The young mage dodged their strikes, blasted one backwards and onto a shattered spike of fence, impaling it.  

But even as the mage turned to try and face the second Orc, it went to its knees, raised its spear, and thrust it into Khadgar’s back. 

Anduin saw the strike just as it happened; he pulled out his own boomstick and blasted the Orc as it struck Khadgar.  The shot threw the Orc backwards, still holding the spear, which was jerked from Khadgar’s body. 

The young mage stood for a moment, his face white in the moonlight.  Then he collapsed. 

It was one of those frozen-in-time moments as Anduin stood, bloodied sword in hand, dead and dying Orcs and men around him, staring at the boy lying motionless in the crushed grass.  Then, with a shriek of fury and denial, he leapt the distance, thrust his sword point into the ground and knelt.

_Please no…please…._

The smell hit him first, the stink of hot blood, and then he felt it when he slid his fingers beneath Khadgar’s back where the spear had struck.  He couldn’t see it in the dark, could only feel the spreading warmth as it seeped between his fingers.  And then he heard the faint groan as he gently turned the boy over.  His heart double-thumped in relief.  Alive then.

Duty dragged at him and he looked away to his troops.  They were doing well, most of the Orcs were dead, with one or two staggering back into the forest.   But his troop had been hard hid nonetheless; they had lost at least half their number. 

He sheathed his sword, slid his arms under the younger man and stood, holding Khadgar against his chest.  He whistled a signal and his horse trotted out of the shadows, reins dragging.  A moment later Ramen,  one of his lieutenants, ran up to him, wiping blood from his blade.  He saw Anduin’s burden and stopped abruptly.

“Is he…?”

“Alive, but I don’t know for how long.  We have to move from here in case they signalled others.  Hold him.”  He transferred Khadgar to Ramen and mounted.  “Give him to me.  Gently, watch his back.”  Anduin kneed his horse around, away from the logging camp and down towards the road.  “Get the men together, load the wounded on horses and follow me.  We need to get to the river.”

His horse was a war mount, needing little rein guidance and trained to understand leg instructions.  Holding Khadgar firmly, he rode south, across the road and through the fields to the river.  He chose a place with the river at their back; anything large trying to cross it would make a lot of noise, which gave some protection.

As he slid carefully from the saddle, he spoke to Ramen.  “Pick your best rider and fastest horse.  Send him back to Stormwind at speed.  I want a healer on a gryphon here as soon as possible.  And set up guards. “

He lowered Khadgar to the ground, snagging a blanket from his pack to keep him from the damp grass.  When one of his men approached with Khadgar’s wolf skin wrap, he gave the soldier a nod of thanks.  “Make up a fire.  I know it’s a risk but it’s not like they don’t know we’re here.”  As he waited for the fire to be lit, Anduin gently turned Khadgar onto his stomach and began to remove his tunic, slicing it away with his dagger.  As he pulled the blood soaked shirt from the boy’s shoulder, he came awake with a cry of pain.

Anduin slid his hand under Khadgar’s head, covering his mouth.  “It’s alright, it’s me.  Try not to move.  Yes, I know it hurts.”

Khadgar’s head slid to the side as his chest heaved with each shudder of breath.  “What…what…happened?”

“You’ve taken a spear to the back.  I need to take a look at it.  The fact that you’re not coughing up blood is a good sign.”

As the fire bloomed, Anduin was able to view the wound, and he hissed at the sight.  It was high up, on the left side near the shoulder blade.  The spear had ripped through the flesh and muscle, and the wound was seeping blood.  Khadgar heard the sound and tried to move, which made him grind his face into the blanket to muffle a scream of pain.  “How bad….?” He gasped, beginning to shake in what Anduin knew was shock.

“It’s nasty, I won’t lie.  I have to stop this bleeding, and I don’t think any bandage I can make will do the job.”  He rested one hand gently on Khadgar’s head.  “I’m sorry, boy, but I have to sear it closed, or you might bleed to death before the healer arrives.”

Khadgar’s right hand twitched, grabbing a handful of grass and earth in a spasm.  “Sear…oh Light….”

Anduin tossed his dagger to the sergeant who’d lit the fire.  “Put that in till it glows.  And find me some water and a clean cloth of some kind.”  As he waited, Anduin wrapped the wolf hide over Khadgar’s body, covering him to the waist.  Shock from the injury and blood loss could cause serious problems; he’d seen men die of it after taking a bad wound in battle. 

“You…were right…I should…have listened.  Maybe the Masters….were…right too.  Impulsive, stupid.”  His teeth were chattering, making his voice warble and break.

“Well next time I’ll just chain you up in a dungeon where you can’t turn the guards into sheep.”  He had no idea what he was saying, only that he had to keep his voice calm and comforting.  Even though all he wanted to do was yell in fury and frustration and misery that another person he cared about was likely slipping away from him. 

Though he’d never done this thing himself, he’d seen it done on others.  It was something used only in dire circumstances, when no healer was available and the wound was bleeding enough to risk death by blood loss.  Anduin washed around the wound so he could see its proper shape and size, clenching his teeth against a traitorous rush of bile at the sight of the torn flesh.  He’d seen enough wounds in his life, but this one was much too personal.

Anduin raised Khadgar’s head, wiping the sweat from the boy’s eyes and face.  He picked up a twig and broke it in half.  “Bite on this.  It will stop you crushing your tongue.”

Dark eyes wet with tears stared up at him and he saw the trust there, despite the fear.  _I just hope it’s not misplaced_.  Khadgar took the twig in his mouth without a word and buried his face against Anduin’s leg.  The dagger glowed red and Anduin could feel the heat and he concentrated on that, on the sensation of damp ground and a hot blade, and locked away how much it would hurt his friend in that place where all his life’s pain was held.  He nodded at the man next to him, who pressed down on Khadgar’s legs to hold him still.  Without another word, with a small prayer to the Light that his touch would do what was needed, Anduin pressed the flat of the dagger against the wound.

Khadgar shouted, bucked and writhed at the intolerable pain.  Even as his flesh hissed, he choked, spat out the twig and fainted.

Anduin held the dagger blade for a few more seconds, then pulled it away.  “Good, I hoped he’d pass out.  Give me the chance to wrap it.”  He loosened his grip on the dagger when he realised the pommel was cutting into his palm and his hand was starting to shake.  With a grunt of distaste he tossed it aside and bent to study the wound.

The bleeding had gone from a steady flow to a mere trickle.  It looked ugly, the flesh bruised and torn and puckered by the heat.  “A priest healer I will never be,” he muttered as he took the moist cloth, formed it into a pad and laid it over the gash.  Stripping off his chest armour, he removed his shirt and ripped it into lengths to make a rough bandage.  Once that was done he wrapped the unconscious mage in blankets.

The fire was a worry and he finally extinguished it.  But he had to keep Khadgar warm, and in the end he sat on the wolf skin with his back against a tree trunk, pulled one of the blankets over himself and held the limp body against him for warmth.  He could see his men watching him, their eyes shining in the moonlight, and it took all his control to keep his tone calm and light.

“If this gets around, I’ll have the big mouth responsible on privy cleaning for a month.”

And then all he could do was wait through the long, cold night.

Khadgar woke after a time, confused and pained and mostly incoherent.  Anduin gave him sips of water, washed his face to cool him and just held on through the hours.  Thankfully the Orcs didn’t appear.   That, at least, was a blessing.  _And there I was, wanting them to come around so I could kill a few.  Watch what you wish for, Lothar._

The first pale morning sun was lighting the forest mist when he heard a rush of wings from above.  The gryphon spotted them and sideslipped down, back winging to a stop next to the river.  It carried two figures; the soldier he’d sent and a man in grey riding robes carrying a backpack.  Both slid from the gryphon and hurried towards him.  The middle-aged priest went to his knees next to Anduin and began unpacking his gear.

“I’m Cleric Hedrig, Lord Commander.  How bad is it?”

“You’re very welcome, Cleric.  I’m not sure.  He was bleeding badly and I had to sear the wound to stop the bleeding.”

The cleric grunted as he opened his pack.  “I see.  Let us hope the shock of that has not caused other problems.”  He smiled mildly at Anduin’s glare.  “Yes, I appreciate your efforts, and you may well have saved him from death by blood loss.  Let me assess his condition, if you will lay him out here.”

The priest stripped away Anduin’s makeshift bandage and assessed the wound with a gentle touch.  “Hmm.  I’ve healed worse.  Let me see what I can do.”

He sat back, cross-legged, placed both hands above Khadgar’s back, and closed his eyes.  There was a humming sound, a sense of warmth, and a smell something like flowers or herbs.  The air fluttered over the wound and the ugly puckering of flesh began to smooth, like worked clay.  The priest’s lips moved in a soft prayer to the Light as he worked.  Despite the gentle movements and whispered voice, Anduin recognised the power of those white, soft hands. 

The priest worked at the healing for some time, and when he finally relaxed and lowered his hands, the wound was closed and clean.  The flesh was swollen and red, but there was no bleeding.  “Well, that’s a start at least.  The internal damage is harder to assess and I cannot fully deal with that here, but he has been stabilised at least.  We must get him back to my rooms in the city immediately.”

~~~*~~~

He came awake, memory drifting in like mist, slow and gradual.   He’d flown somewhere on gryphon back, he remembered a night wind on his hot face.  A voice droning in his ear, the touch of a power that took away…what…?

The echo of something hurting brought him to sharp awareness.  When he tried to move a pulse of pain confirmed it.  _Don’t do that again._

A hand touched his forehead, and he opened his eyes. 

“Awake at last.  Let me guess, you feel terrible.”

He blinked, trying to understand, trying to remember.  As his focus sharpened, he realised it was night.  Torches and lamps glowed against tapestry and stone walls.  Yellow light came from a fireplace in one wall.  He was on his back, on a bed, staring up at a face he didn’t recognise.  But it was a kindly face and seemed interested in him.  He swallowed through a dry throat.   “Have felt better,” he said, voice hardly a whisper because it seemed to take a lot of energy just to talk.

“I imagine so.  Here, let me…” A hand appeared, carrying a cup that smelled of herbs.  The other hand supported his head so that he could drink.  Just a mouthful or two but it tasted wonderful.  His mouth and throat were dry and it took effort just to swallow.  He recognised the taste; a healing potion, and well-prepared.  Its warmth spread through him, gently reviving his body and mind and causing the blooming pain in his back to mute.  “Good,” he said, eyes drooping.

The man may have said something after that but Khadgar slid back into sleep.  The next time he opened his eyes it was day.  He could see the sky through a nearby window, and a familiar figure was standing looking out across the city.

The sound of Khadgar’s slight movement caught Anduin’s attention and he crossed the room to stand beside the bed. 

He looks tired, Khadgar thought, seeing the shadows under the Lord Commander’s eyes.  But he still managed to smile at Khadgar and to gently tousle his hair.  “Gave us all a bit of a fright there, boy.  Don’t do that again, alright?”

“Try not to.”  He yawned, and went to cover his mouth…with his left hand. 

_Which didn’t move._

Anduin saw his reaction and his eyes narrowed.  “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t…I can’t move my arm.  Is it tied down?”

“Of course not.  It’s perfectly fine.”

Khadgar shook his head from side to side on the pillow.  “No its not.  It’s not fine.  I can’t move it!”

There was the sound of rapid footsteps and the face he’d seen earlier loomed into view.  “What is going on here!  I told you not to upset him, Commander.”

“I didn’t!  He just woke up and…”

Khadgar twisted, moaning at the sudden pain, trying to see his left arm.  “I can’t…move it.  My arm.”

“Please relax, young man.  I’m a priest healer and you will destroy my good work if you thrash about.  Let me look.”  He healer slid Khadgar’s arm out from beneath the blanket and held it gently away from his body.  “Move your fingers.”

“I can’t.”  He shuddered, gritting his teeth.  “They aren’t working. Nothing works.”

“What about your right arm?”

Khadgar moved it beneath the covering.  “It’s fine.  What’s wrong, I don’t understand!”

The priest said nothing as he stripped the blankets away.  He had Khadgar move all of his limbs, testing each one.  “Well, everything else seems fine, so it isn’t a crippling injury in the normal way.”  He shook his head, sucking in a deep breath.  “But I was concerned this might happen, given the location of the injury.”

He remembered then.  The attack.  Something striking him in the back.  Pain and fire and a blood red blade.  “I was stabbed.  In the back.  I remember.”

“Yes, you were.  You took a very bad wound and the Lord Commander managed to keep you alive long enough for me to heal you.”

Khadgar blinked and wiped his face with the hand that worked.  “But…why can’t I move my arm?  Was it injured too?”

“No, but it’s possible you have suffered damage to the nerves in your shoulder.”  The healer continued to inspect the arm, raising Khadgar slightly to check the shoulder.  “Our understanding of human anatomy is limited but we have found that things we call nerves function in the body to allow things like movement to occur.  There is a bundle of them in the shoulder and neck area that allow the arms to function.  The location of your wound is very close to that spot.”

Khadgar shivered, his face white.  “But…you can heal it?  Priests can heal anything!”

“Would that it were so.  Unfortunately nerves follow their own rules.  Something in their nature does not benefit from healing.  If they are severed…”  He frowned, hesitated, then spoke more softly.  “…then loss of movement is permanent.”

Khadgar looked up at the priest, shaking his head.  “No.  I can’t…there must be a way.”

“Understand me, young man, it may not be permanent.  The nerves can be damaged or bruised and can self-heal, and if so your arm would return to normal in time.  You should not assume the worst.”

Anduin nodded and smiled in encouragement.  “Exactly.  And even if worst comes to worst, people do really well with one arm.  Some of my soldiers…”

“No! You don’t understand!  I’m not a soldier, Anduin, I’m a mage!”  Khadgar tried to sit up and collapsed backwards, wincing.  “I can’t be a mage with one arm.  I need BOTH arms for my magic.  The spells, the true power is linked to dual gestures.  Do you understand?  I can’t function without both hands!”

They tried to reassure him and he finally stopped speaking because nothing they said changed the panic and fear.  No words could fix it.  No choices could change it.  If he wasn’t a mage, he was nothing.

It took one of the healer’s sleeping draughts to finally get him to sleep.  As unconsciousness claimed him, part of him wished he’d never wake….

~~~*~~

Anduin rested both hands on the map table and studied it, waiting for inspiration to strike.  No amount of clever moving of pieces or juggling of troops would change the facts – he didn’t have the numbers to defend Stormwind City.

“Aye lad, it’s not a happy thing, to lose a city.”

He glanced across at the Dwarven Ambassador.  Brann Bronzebeard was King Magni’s brother, and a notable explorer who had come to Stormwind now and then during his various journeys around the world.  “I haven’t lost it yet.”

“No, but it would take more strength of arms than you have now to save it.  And it will only waste your people to even try.” The red-bearded dwarf pulled himself up onto a stool and placed his beer mug on the table.  “I’m truly sorry, I only wish we could help more.”

“You’ve done a lot already, my friend, and you have own home to defend.  Your boomsticks have been invaluable in battle.”

The dwarf grinned and stroked his moustache.  “Sweet weapons they are, and we’re working on even better ones.  But it will take time and resources – and time is something we don’t have a lot of right now.”  He sighed and took another drink from his mug.  “Still, m’brother is sending you a few things to help, they should be here tomorrow morning.  And whatever ships we have are on the way as well.  I’m guessing you’ll want to put an evacuation plan in place.”  Brann slammed his fist down on the table.  “But before that, let’s put our heads together and come up with some ideas to make life hard for them mongrel Orcs!”

The discussion went on into the night and they were joined after dinner by Ambassadors from Lordaeron and Quel’thelas.  Finally, Anduin called it a night and set off for some rest, but decided to stop in and check on Khadgar first.

Despite the hour, he found the young mage still awake, and sitting on the balcony of his bedroom.  He was rugged up against the cool night air, staring out over the city and the dejected slant of his shoulders was enough to tell Anduin his mood.  He greeted Anduin with a nod and an unnatural lack of conversation.

“I take it nothing has changed,” Anduin said as he settled himself on the other chair next to Khadgar.

“No.  Still crippled.”

Anduin had spoken to the healer earlier in the day, had sought the older man’s advice on how to help his friend.  The priest had been bluntly practical.

“He’s healing well enough, physically, and I can handle the majority of that side of things.  You need to attack his depression before it truly cripples him.”

“Attack it how?”

“You know the young man better than I.  However, one thing I do know, a gentle touch will not work with this harm.  You must engage his mind and his heart.  Unusual work for a warrior, I know.  But I suspect only you can penetrate that armour of misery he is building about himself…”

 _Amour of misery is right._ He studied the familiar face and judged him as he would any of his men.  Those eyes lacked their normal sparkle, the sign of a crushed spirit.   _Ah well, in for a copper, in for a gold…_

“I thought I knew you, Khadgar, but I was wrong.  I never knew you were a coward.”

Khadgar jerked back, eyes wide with shock.  “What?!”

“What else can I call it, when you are too afraid to fight.”

“Afraid!  I’m not afraid.  I just can’t…”

Anduin slammed his hand onto the armrest of the chair.  “Don’t keep telling me that bullcrap nonsense.  _You can’t!_   Let me tell you something.  I had a sergeant once, best tracker I ever knew.  One day he got paw struck by a bear right across the face, lost both his eyes.  But he refused to give up.  He learned to live sightless, and his other senses became incredibly keen.  He could hear and smell and touch and he used his skills to teach others to be what he’d been.  And he **never** gave up.  He never whimpered, “I can’t.  He did what he could, and he refused to be helpless.”  Anduin knew his tone was cruel, could see the boy’s cheeks pale in shame, but  this was a fight he couldn’t afford to lose.  “You’ve always known you were special.  This is the time to show it.”

He watched the battle taking place, a battle as intense as any he’d fought in.  Anger and misery twisted Khadgar’s features and he wondered if he’d gone too far.  Then the anguish faded and his head dropped.

“You’re right.  I’m sorry. “  He took a deep breath.  “Who and what I am has always defined me.  What I am able to do…was able to do…was everything.”

“Don’t compare yourself to what you were.  Become what you CAN do, not what you can’t.  Adapt.  Survive.”   He smiled, ignoring the twinge of sympathy, which was the last thing Khadgar needed.  “Ultimately, only you can decide your limits, or your abilities. “  He shrugged, intently watching.  “I think you’re cleverer than even you know.  You’re good at tricking your way around things.  Find the trick in this, too.”

Khadgar’s expression became intent, and he began stroking the soft hair on his chin in thought.  “Perhaps.  If I can manage the flow and learn to move it faster.  I’d be slower at launching spells, having to dual manipulate with the one hand…but perhaps…”

He had never spoken this way to his son.  Too proud to show real affection, not knowing how to bridge the gap of years, or convey those unspoken compliments and kindnesses.  He had tried to put all of his love into a last touch and a meeting of eyes as his son had died.  Too little, too late.  It felt somehow right to give to Khadgar what he never gave his son.

He resisted the urge to muss the young man’s hair as he left.  He couldn’t be a boy anymore.  It was time for him to truly grow up.

 ~~~*~~

Anduin folded his arms across the top of the battlement wall, resting his weight against the cold stone.  He was bone-tired and hadn’t slept more than two or three hours straight for days.  There was so much to be done and his instincts told him he was almost out of time.  _It will be today_ he thought tiredly.  _Or perhaps tomorrow, but probably today._

Wheels scraped along the stone battlements to either side of him as King Magni’s gifts were wheeled into place.  Three catapults had arrived from Ironforge only an hour before, pulled through the mountains on big carts that had taken almost a week to get to Stormwind.   He appreciated the gift, but knew they wouldn’t make a lot of difference.

Ultimately nothing would.  Not while Stormwind fought alone for its survival.  He knew he had to get north to Lordaeron and convince that Kingdom and its neighbours to stand together against the Horde threat.  It would be too late for his home, but not perhaps for Azeroth.

Aerial patrols had seen the first real Horde presence during the day, and the evacuation of the city had begun.  As many people as possible were loaded onto all the ships in port; fishing vessels, merchant ships, their own few warships.  They were on their way north to Lordaeron, including his sister and her children.  She hadn’t wanted to go but he’d convinced her in the end.  It was what her husband would have wanted.

_He should be here, standing on the wall beside me, directing his troops, offering encouragement and guidance.  Ah, Llane, you thought you’d live out your years as King of a peaceful land, watching your children grow and your realm prosper._

But those dreams had been taken from Llane, and from him.  He felt the familiar ache clutch at him, as sharp as the blade that had ended Llane’s life.    Some things cut deeper than steel.

Anduin switched his thoughts back to the evacuation.  More ships had come in during the night; merchant ships returning from ventures, some private vessels hired by the kingdom, a few from Ironforge and other cities.  There would be just enough to take out the rest of the population.  And whoever survived of his single remaining  Stormwind Legion.  Perhaps.

He knew the numbers were so unbalanced as to be impossible.  He had three hundred trained men and women capable of fighting.  The Horde numbered in thousands. 

His gloomy thoughts were distracted by the sound of tapping on the stone walkway.  He looked towards the sound and saw a figure moving slowly through the pools of light thrown by the bracketed torches.  “You shouldn’t be up here.  How did you even get up the stairs?”

Khadgar straightened stiffly, using his staff as a walking aid.  “Slowly, very slowly.  I’m fine.  Even the healer said I needed to start moving about.” 

Anduin shoved a crate towards him with one foot and Khadgar sat down with a sigh.  His left arm was slung against his chest and he wore a long robe instead of his normal tunic and trousers.  “Though I did count every one of those steps.  I need to practise levitation.”

Anduin’s squire joined them from the guard post, bearing a camp table, pot, two mugs and a flask.  He set the table down and nodded to Khadgar.  “Good evening, sir.  It’s good to see you up and about, I hope you are feeling better.”

“Yes, thank you.”

The young soldier set the items he carried on the table between Khadgar and Anduin.  “The troops will be pleased to hear it.  Please take my mug, I’ll get a cup from the kitchen.”

Khadgar watched the squire leave, wearing a puzzled smile.  “Why would your soldiers be concerned about me?”

Anduin smiled mildly as he poured two cups of tea.  “I may have told them a bit about you.”  He opened the flask and poured a quantity of liquid into his cap.  He eyed Khadgar for a few moments, then poured an equal amount into his.  “People seem to like you, not sure why, seeing how much trouble you are.”

Khadgar picked up the cup and took a drink.  “It’s true, I’m a…Dammit!” He nearly dropped the cup, choking.  “What was that, liquid fire?”

Anduin laughed as he took a mouthful of his own rum-laced tea. Laughter was something he’d enjoyed little of lately, it was good to feel human again.  He raised the cup and reached out to tap it against Khadgar’s.  “A salute to you.  To Khadgar, a mage now and always.”

Khadgar bowed his head in response and raised his own cup.  “And to the Lion of Azeroth, long may he roar.”

Anduin groaned and took another mouthful of tea.  “Please, not you too.”  He sat on another crate and stretched his legs up onto a third.  “I wonder if that Orc Gul’dan will be with them?”

“Oh I hope so.”

The tone was cold and savage, and Anduin turned, surprised.  Khadgar was staring out into the darkness, his good hand clenched on the cup so hard it shook.  He turned to Anduin, wearing an expression he had never seen before on that young face.  It was feral.

“I am a mage of the Kirin Tor.  That creature is everything that is anathema to us.  I await the chance to turn him to a pile of smoking ash.”

There seemed nothing to say to that, since Anduin would cheerfully have participated.  But it still felt oddly uncomfortable to see Khadgar’s hatred given form. 

He cleared his throat and Khadgar blinked, the anger fading from his features. 

“So, how goes the magic stuff.”

“Stuff? Well, the ah, stuff goes fairly well. Rapid battle magic will be a problem, but when I have time to slow cast, it works much better.”

“Good.  So how far down there,” Anduin asked, pointing beyond the walls, “can you cast a spell?”

Khadgar pulled himself to his feet and moved to the wall.  Beneath them, the bridge over the moat stretched into the darkness.  “Height-wise, I can reach the ground easily.  As far as distance goes, depends on the spell.  Something with reasonable force, about forty paces.”

“Could you put up one of those walls that Medivh did?”

 “Ye…s, I think so.”  Khadgar thought on it, eyes narrowed.  “Maybe.  But Medivh was the Guardian and had been invested with the power of the Tirisguard – he had not only his own power but that of some of the best mages in the world.  I have only my own and with my limited manipulation, it won’t be as strong.  And I’ll be drained afterwards and no good for anything for a while.”

“Assuming you could do it, how long would it last?”

“A few minutes at best.”

Anduin nodded, thoughtful.  “Well, a few minutes might be enough.  If we need some sort of rear-guard action, it could help get the last of the Legion on the boats.  By the time we get to that, we’re likely to be in a rather desperate  state.”

“Well then,” Khadgar said, leaning forward across the wall, “I’ll do my best.  You didn’t think of destroying the bridge?”

“I did, and we couldn’t.  The gnome engineers took a look at it, said it was designed to withstand most normal demolition methods.  It would take days, if not weeks, to break it enough to slow the Orcs down.  So I let it be.  They’d get through anyhow, with only the walls and the gate to stop them.”  He stood beside Khadgar and pointed down.  “Do you see those piles of litter along the sides of the bridge?”

Khadgar squinted.  “Yes.”

“Well, they aren’t just rubbish.  Each mound  has barrels of oil and black powder stuffed inside.  Do you think your spells could reach them, hit them with enough force to set them off?”

Khadgar measured the distance, assessing  each one.  “The nearer ones certainly.  The ones furthest away, I’m not sure.  They are beyond what used to be my range.  But I can try.”  He grinned at Anduin.  “Nice idea.”

“I thought so.  When the time comes you can chuck your spells and if you can’t make the ones at the end of the bridge, my archers will be waiting to…”  He stopped, as he caught sight of a deer bolting out of woods.  A moment later another one charged out, and then the trees at the forest’s edge stirred with no wind behind them.

The Horde’s advance force moved out of Elwynn Forest. Both men watched in silence as the trumpets sounded the alarm.  Then the great bells of Stormwind Cathedral began to toll, signalling the final evacuation of Stormwind City.

 ~~~*~~

Khadgar stood against the wall in an out-of-the-way spot as the sun rose on Stormwind’s last morning.  The thought that came to him was of breakfast;   a bowl of porridge perhaps, with honey and milk and sliced berry on top.  It was such an everyday sort of thing to be thinking about that he smiled.  Breakfast on a cool morning, steam rising from the tea cup, a good book to read over the plate.  An ordinary start to the day.  To any normal day, that is.

Instead there was noise all around him, the sound of a battle in the making.  Soldiers moved back and forth taking up position, shouted commands echoed up the stairwells, bags and boxes of arrows and swords and spears were dragged to the wall, while overhead even the flags snapped in the wind.  And still the bells rang as the city sang out its paean to the Light.

Despite the worry and, yes, he could to admit, the fear, the sight of Anduin Lothar doing what he did best was comforting.  In the midst of what seemed chaotic to Khadgar, Anduin was poised and calm.  With his officers and aides around him, he issued orders, organising  a dozen different things at once with calm and quiet precision.  There was no panic there, no sign of worry about odds or failure or anything but doing his duty for his people.  Confidence radiated off him like heat from a fire. 

The Orcs had not yet advanced.  Large numbers had moved out of the forest and formed a long, ragged line in front of the trees.  The numbers were difficult to judge but there were hundreds of them visible and certainly more behind them that had not yet appeared.  They were oddly silent, hardly moving.  Watching, Khadgar supposed, and assessing the walls of the city they would soon assault.

Thinking of assault, Khadgar glanced at the catapults as an idea came to him.  He stood and went to battlement wall and judged the distance.  Forty paces, perhaps fifty, to the end of the bridge.  Another forty to the front line of Orcs.   _Way too far for a direct strike.  But with the catapult…_

As he considered his plan, the Orcs began to stomp their feet.   After a few moments they added their voices and the clash of weapons onto the ground.  Regular, loud, like the beat of a giant heart.  Booming horns rang out in counterpoint.  The Forest shook to the sound and birds rose in screeching flight.

And then a figure appeared through a gap in the line.  An easily recognisable figure, even at that distance.

Khadgar hissed and Anduin spoke from behind him.

“Gul’dan!”

The big Orc stopped and raised one arm, and the noise cut off abruptly.  In his hand was a small figure.  Anduin raised his looking glass.

“It’s a woman!  What the….”

The Orc warlock waited a few moments, holding the struggling figure aloft like a toy doll.  Then she screamed and Khadgar thought he heard a snap, though he may have imagined it.  But certainly she was dead as Gul’dan let her drop to the ground.  The Orcs behind him roared and raised their weapons, and Gul’dan crossed his arms over his chest, and laughed.

For a moment the soldiers were quiet, then they erupted.  Fury swelled around the wall in a wave of emotion and a clash of swords on shields.  But Anduin’s voice rose above it.

“Quiet! Hold your positions!”

Khadgar looked up at him and saw the flushed anger in his face.  “That was a provocation.  He wants you to go out there.”

Anduin nodded, face tight with anger.  “I know.  He knows I know.  And it doesn’t matter.”  Anduin clenched his hands together on the battlement wall.  “If he keeps doing that sort of thing, no power known will keep my people from throwing themselves at him.”

“Then maybe we should give him something else to think about.”  Khadgar moved over to the nearest catapult.   “Do you have any of those oil barrels handy?”

Anduin blinked, focused on Khadgar in surprise.  “Well, yes.  But what…”

“Bring…six should do…yes, bring up six, two per catapult, and have the crews load the first three.”

“They won’t reach Gul’dan, he’s out of catapult range.”

“Yes he is.”  Khadgar smiled, nostrils flaring.  “But not out of mine.  Not if I give them a push.”  He raised an eyebrow at Anduin’s confused frown.  “Trust me.  Just get them, load one onto each of the catapults and wait for my command to launch the first one.  One at a time, please.”

There was no time to explain further and Khadgar needed to concentrate.  It would require two spells; the first, to boost the barrels in flight, the second, a fire spell.  He would need to chant and gesture for both in rapid succession and at precisely the right time.  The words and patterns came to him as they always had, like drawing a sword from its sheath.  He set them mentally in place as he waited.  The catapult crews worked the winches, setting the arms in position.  Khadgar stood next to the first, watching as Anduin carefully positioned it, aiming for the centre of the Orc line where Gul’dan stood, and checking the flags to adjust for wind.

“Right,” he said finally, holding the lanyard.  “Ready when you are.”

Khadgar collected his staff and tucked it through the sling holding his left arm so that the staff rested against his chest and over his shoulder.  He stood against the battlement wall, centred himself and began to draw on his power.  Raising his right arm, his fingers danced  as he incanted the first spell.  He nodded, eyes flicking towards Anduin.

Anduin reefed the lanyard back and the catapult sprang into life, hurling the arm overhead and tossing the barrel into the air.  It soared up and over the wall in a high arc.  As it started to lose height, Khadgar spoke the launch phrase and tossed the spell at the barrel.  A streak of blue-white light soared through the air, caught the barrel and shoved it forward.

As it toppled end over end, Khadgar twirled his arm, spoke rapidly and gathered the fire spell.  As the barrel reached the very edge of his range he released it.  A ball of flame shot across the sky and  smashed into the barrel.  It exploded, sending a wave of burning globules through the air like tiny fire arrows, straight down into the Horde.

The Orcs roared as liquid fire fell in a rain from above.  Gul’dan dodged aside and moved rapidly to the rear as dozens of Orcs in the front line yelled and rolled in the grass, their skin and hair alight.

“Next!” Khadgar waited, poised and tense as Anduin moved to the second catapult.  At Khadgar’s quick nod, he jerked the lanyard and the second barrel was in flight.  Again, the young mage hit the barrel squarely with his first spell, and then again with his second.  By the third flaming eruption above them the Orcs were in a rage and no shouted orders from their leader or war chief was keeping them in position.  They began to move forward towards the walls.

Khadgar waited until they reached catapult range before ordering the first catapult to fire again.  The last three needed only the fire spell, as the Orcs had advanced into catapult range.  The Orc line was in chaos but still advancing as they stumbled around or over the bodies of the burning.  When they reached the bridge, Khadgar concentrated on the hidden barrels.

“Wait till they are almost across,” Anduin said, standing beside Khadgar at the wall.  “Catch more of them packed up together.”

Khadgar sucked in a lungful of air and sagged a little against the cold stone.  He felt an arm curl behind him.  “I’m alright.  It’s just a bit more difficult than usual.”

“I’m hanging onto you for support.  All this magic stuff is disturbing me.”

Snorting a laugh, Khadgar straightened and the arm was withdrawn.  “Right.  Say when.”

The archers had already started firing down into the front wave of attackers coming across the bridge.  Orcs yelled and fell off into the moat as they were hit, and some dropped into the water from to the press of bodies around them.

“Now would be good,” Anduin said softly.

Moments later balls of flame flew from Khadgar’s hand, striking the furthest pile and moving from that to the next as it blew.  Orc bodies flew up screaming as the barrels of oil and black powder exploded.  Death swept through them in a red wave.

Then with shocking abruptness, a spear of green flame struck the outer battlement wall only paces below where Khadgar stood.  He stumbled backwards with a cry, arm up in instinctive protection, blinded momentarily by the harsh light of the Fel.

Hands grabbed Khadgar and pulled him away to the back wall.  “Right, you’re out of here.  Sergeant, get this man to my gryphon.”

“No!”  Khadgar struggled upright, wiping his eyes clear.  “I can still do more, I might be able to hit him…!”

“Or he might hit you.”  Anduin raised a finger, eyes narrowed.  “Don’t argue.  It’s an order.  He has your range now, and he’ll kill you if you keep attacking.  Your magic makes you an easily marked target.  Get to the docks, now!”

 ~~~*~~

The gryphon came in for a gentle landing in a clear space at the rear of the dock.  It lowered itself to its haunches and Khadgar slid off, groaning as his feet hit the ground.  In the stress and pace of battle he’d not given much thought to his back, but once away from the immediate action it had flared up with a vengeance.  He turned to give the gryphon a stroke of thanks and looked into its closest large eye.  “Lothar,” he said, touching its beak.  “Back to Lothar.”

It huffed a breath that ruffled his hair, stepped away and launched itself upwards. 

Crowds swirled around him as it left, all heading down towards the wooden wharves where the last of the ships were tied up.  Soldiers stood at the gangplanks directing people aboard and keeping order.  Khadgar hobbled slowly to the spot where he had earlier placed a small box of his precious books, and gave a small thanks to the Light when he found the box untouched.  He wouldn’t normally have worried about taking books but these were Kirin Tor property from the Kharazan library,  and irreplaceable.

He saw a sergeant directing traffic and hobbled across to him.  “Sergeant, could I get a hand to load that box aboard please?”

“No boxes aboard, can’t you read the notice?  Carried personal belongings only.”  The blond Sergeant turned away, annoyed. 

“But, these are important books and I…..”

“Books!  Don’t be bloody ridiculous!  Get aboard, if you want to, but the box stays here!  You, there,” the soldier waved to a passing farmer dragging a black ewe, “you can’t take that aboard you idiot…”

Khadgar wiped a hand over his face, tiredness dragging at him.  He looked at the ship, and then back at the box.  _Damn it, I’m not leaving it behind.  I’ll wait for someone I know to come along….._

He sat on the box with his back resting against a bollard, and closed his eyes.  He could hear a hissing sound that pulsed gently with the beat of his heart.  It happened sometimes when he was really tired, the sign of a body pushed too far.  He let his mind drift, seeking out the place deep inside where his power lay, a place of muted blue-white light and swirling energy that sang to him, as it had from the day of his birth…..

A loud echoing rumble and crash brought him back.  People were shouting and the soldiers stood staring out towards the main gates.  The couldn’t be seen from the docks, but it was obvious what had happened.

“They’ve breached the gates!” The Sargent turned to his troops.  “Get the rest of them aboard NOW!”

Ignoring the aching shoulder, Khadgar stood and looked across at the docked ships. There were three of them and one, its decks crowded with people, had already cast off and began to set it sails.  The second merchant ships was loading the last of the civilians aboard.  The remaining warship waited for the last of the city’s troops.

He smelled smoke, and turned back to see it rising from various points across the city.  The Orcs were smashing through the streets, he could hear the echoing sound of their battle cries. 

_Where are you, Anduin?_

As if he’d spoken a prayer that had been answered, a familiar figure on a warhorse came galloping down the broad steps that led from the city to the docks.  Other mounted figures followed, most riding double, carrying the wounded with them.  But so few.  Some others on foot appeared further down the docks, running as fast as their armour would allow.  Khadgar did a rough count.  One hundred perhaps.  _Out of three hundred._

Khadgar didn’t need to be told what to do.  He gathered his staff with his good hand, limped across the dock and stopped at the bottom of the stairs.  It was as good a place as any.  He lodged the staff in a crevice in the stone, raised his hand and began collecting all of his power.  One of Medivh’s books had revealed the spell to him and he’d practiced it until it was perfect. _Or at least, as perfect as I can make it…._

Cerulean energies pulsed around him, swirling upwards like a tornado in reverse.  The air gusted and flashed in a shower of living fireworks.  He waited until all of the soldiers were behind him, took a deep breath and spoke the words of power.

The magic exploded out in a wave.  It swept along the docks in front of the ships, as high as a tall tree.  He held it, controlled it like a fractious horse, then gently turned its edges so that it surrounded the wharf in a semi-circle that ended in the water beyond the two remaining ships.

As it reached the water, the Orcs came rolling down the stairs in a wave of green and brown.  They stopped, furious at the sight of the crackling wall.  Some tried to run through it, only to be tossed back.

Minutes…moments…or  years later, a voice spoke through the massive hissing that rang in his ears.  “Khadgar…”

Release made him stagger backwards and he would have fallen if arms hadn’t caught him.  He looked up at Anduin’s dirt-streaked, bruised face.  Bloodshot eyes looked down at him, shining.  “Well done, mage.”  His voice was a dry throaty whisper.  “The last merchant ship has left.  Time for us to go too.”

He grabbed his staff as Anduin picked him up.  “I…can walk…”

“Sure you can but I’m in a hurry.  Humour me.”

As Anduin passed the box of books, Khadgar waved at it.  “My books!”

Anduin nodded at the stunned blond Sergeant, who was looking at Khadgar in embarrassed awe.  “Bring that box aboard, Sergeant. And let’s get out of here.”

The wall faded as the warship reached the Stormwind lighthouse.  Khadgar stood on the stern deck beside Anduin looking back at the city.  Smoke billowed up from dozens of fires, and as they watched a flood of Fel magic rose up the Cathedral tower, smashing its spire and sending the pieces crashing to the street.  The huge bells seemed to cry as they fell.

As he started to turn away, Khadgar felt something.  He looked down at his left hand.  There it was again.  A tingling.  He watched as the fingers twitched, very slightly.  _Thank you, Light.  You do come from the darkness indeed._

He turned to Anduin, saw the misery in the eyes of a man whose life had been sworn to defend this very city.  “We’ll take it back,” he said softly.  “We will.  And it will be rebuilt even more beautiful than it is now.”

“Yes it will be, one day.”  Anduin Lothar let out a slow, deep breath, and he looked across at his friend.  His smile was a kind of victory. 

 

The End

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Evacuating the City](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8303461) by [menel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel)




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